Page 64 of Snitches and Serpents

As if I’m just one of the idiot drug addicts that we sell to, I crave another taste of Elle goddamn Summers.

It’s absurd. And insulting. It’s blasphemous to everything I stand for. Everything I have worked for. Everything I have endured.

So it doesn’t matter that I liked fucking her. What matters is that she escaped my last trap, and now I need to set another.

She can apparently bribe her way out of trouble with the police, which means that I will just need to focus on making our university simply kick her out regardless of whether there is an actual police report or not.

Planting drugs and weapons on her hasn’t worked, so it’s time to think outside the box. To do something that will be serious enough to get her expelled, and also complex enough to make it impossible for her to prove that she’s innocent.

No more holding back.

She wants to play dirty?

We’ve only scratched the surface of just how dirty I can play it.

23

ELLE

To my utter surprise, Tristan’s life is pretty ordinary. When John, or whatever his real name is, told me to follow Tristan around and report his movements, I kind of thought I would be sneaking into gangster meetings like you see in the movies or something like that. But Tristan hasn’t really done anything overly suspicious.

It has been two whole weeks, and so far, I have nothing concrete to report.

I flex my fingers on the steering wheel as I continue to discreetly follow Tristan’s car towards downtown Bercester. Worry flits through me like restless birds. I really need to find something soon. Otherwise, John might withdraw his protection.

And he has been protecting me. He must have. In the past two weeks, Tristan has done nothing to get me expelled. Absolutely nothing. Which isn’t like him. So it must mean that he has been doing secret things that John has managed to stop before they can impact me.

I squeeze the steering wheel hard as dread washes over me again. I can’t lose his protection. But at the same time, I can’t figure out what it is that he expects me to find.

If John told me to follow him, he must already know that Tristan is a member of the White Serpents. And everyone knows that the White Serpents own several nightclubs downtown. So he must already know that Tristan works there in some capacity, even though I haven’t personally seen him go into any of those clubs.

All Tristan has done these past two weeks is to go to class, to a gym downtown, or to campus parties with his friends. Though Tristan spends most of those parties standing by the wall and scanning the crowd. I’ve told John that Tristan’s housemates are most likely dealing drugs at those parties, but he doesn’t seem interested in that. Which once again leads me to wonder what it is that he’s actually hoping that I will find.

Apart from going to class, the gym, and the parties, Tristan does one more thing.

He studies.

A lot.

That, more than anything, surprised me.

Deep down, I know that it probably shouldn’t have. After all, he spent practically every day studying back when we were in high school. But that was back then. Back when Tristan was an unassuming nerd.

Now, with all his muscles and tattoos and gang affiliations, I thought he would be… I don’t know. Too cool for school?

But instead, he spends a disproportionate amount of time sitting at the desk in his room, studying. Which I know because I have been watching him through the window like an absolute creep. Oh well, the things we do for survival. Or for protection against expulsion, at least.

Tristan’s car suddenly pulls into a parking lot.

I was so lost in my own head that I almost forgot that I’m driving as well. Blinking, I give my head a few quick shakes to clear it. Then I flick a glance at the building next to the parking lot.

It’s the gym. Again.

Frowning, I continue driving past the parking lot so that Tristan won’t spot my car. After turning the next corner, I park my car along that road instead. Then I quickly scramble out, close the door quietly, and lock the car before I hurry towards the side of the building.

When I reach the edge, I draw myself up against the rough brick wall and glance around the corner.

Tristan, with a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder, is walking across the stretch of empty asphalt between the parking lot and the gym’s front door. Sunlight beats down on him, making the tattoos along his arms stand out in stark contrast against the bright light. Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, he shoots an annoyed scowl up at the clear blue sky, as if he is annoyed by how warm it is today.

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